


at her leisure

by bigbootyborgias (grimgrace)



Category: The Borgias
Genre: F/M, Incest, but if you're watching the show I'm sure you're cool withit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bigbootyborgias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silk. Around his wrists at one end, the bedposts at the other. </p><p>There’s no one else in the room, and the sudden mischief in her eyes suggests only one culprit could be responsible. </p><p>“Sis –?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	at her leisure

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not super historically accurate. I couldn't find anything that said Lucrezia was in Rome when Rodrigo made Cesare Gonfalonier, so I plead artistic license!

* * *

 

 

He stirs to a whisper in his ear.

 

“ _Gonfalonier_ ,” her soft voice says. His body feels cool, exposed to the gentle morning air. His head feels heavy, the result of last night’s wine, he can only imagine, but there’s no pain to accompany it. Instead, the only thing he feels are her small fingers, skimming across his bare skin.

 

He opens his eyes with a smile on his face.

 

He would never get used to seeing her image greet him every morning, he thinks as he looks up at her. That’s probably why their love is such a sin in the eyes of God. No deity would let a soul as dark as his spend every night with a soul as light as hers.

 

She brushes a finger down the side of his face, beams back at him.

 

“Time to wake up, brother.” She says, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She leans forward from where she sits, legs curled up under her at his side, and presses a kiss to his lips. When she pulls away, she bites her lip and smiles again.

 

Her is a heat that he wants to be closer to, he thinks and he shifts slightly, moving to sweep her into his arms and pull her down to him again.

 

He’s stopped, and for a moment he is alarmed – on guard, against whatever holds him back from her. But when he determines the cause, it’s more cause for confusion than anything.

 

Silk. Around his wrists at one end, the bedposts at the other.

 

There’s no one else in the room, and the sudden mischief in her eyes suggests only one culprit could be responsible.

 

“Sis –?”

 

He pushes himself up as much as he can, but barely moves anywhere before her small hand on his chest pressed him back down. She leans further over him, her hair falling in a curtain around their faces.

 

“Lie still, Cesare. I’ve got plans for you this morning.”

 

She runs her hands over him, his shoulders and his neck. She is as gloriously bare as he is, but he skin is softer than his and he yearns to touch it. Almost immediately he strains against the silk and Lucrezia lets out a soft giggle.

 

“Crezia, what is this?”

 

She smiles at him again, her hands running up his arm, up to the scarf. For a moment he thinks she may release her and they can leave this moment, forget it in their pleasure, but she skims past the material, and plays only with his fingers before pulling back. She lingers on the joints of his arm, brushes her fingertips across his collarbone and then starts on the other arm.

 

“You have the papal armies at your command now.” She says with a simple smile. “Il Valentino, you have a title. You have Imola and Forli – Caterina Sforza shall bother us no more.” She leans in close and taps her nose against his. “What do I have?”

 

He frowns.

 

“You have me.”

 

The answer is obvious, clear. She’ll always have him. _Always._

 

“You have your children, your family.” He continues, fighting the urge to pull against the bonds again. He wants to run his fingers through her hair, touch her cheek – make sure she knows that she has all the love she’ll ever need.

 

Lucrezia smiles slightly. “And my husband?”

 

The same husband is downstairs somewhere. Dancing, maybe. Drinking certainly. His demeanour these days shows nothing of the sweet young man she thought she’d love one day. Cesare can see it when she looks at him. The disappointment that someone who she’d hoped so dearly for, had failed.

 

Mention of him pushes the smile on his face slightly, and it lessens. Subtle now, is the smirk on his face.

 

“Your husband too. And Naples.”

 

Lucrezia shakes her head. Her fingers play with his hair now. He’s all but forgotten his current predicament in favour of making sure Lucrezia stays smiling. She leans against him closely, the heat of her skin blissful on his, and he’s reminded when again he attempts to touch her. She smiles at that more than his words.

 

“No, Naples isn’t mine.” She sighs.

 

He goes to protest. _Of course it is. Anything that looks upon her would be hers in an instant. Anything else would be foolish._

 

“It takes me for my husband’s sake, but it isn’t home.”

 

Her simple touches have kept certain parts of him interested thus far. Their conversation has his attention, her happiness is more important than his, so he’d ignored it. But she moves now, brings one leg up and straddles his waist, leaning further over him for a moment for another sweet kiss before she settles, rubbing against him.

 

His hips jolt up, but that’s the extent of his reaction. He can’t do anything else.

 

He lets out a groan, a little helpless, mostly aroused as she moves on him. “Then where – where is your home, sis?”

 

She lifts herself slightly, reaches between them and takes him in her hand. Lining them up, she waits until she is sinking down on him to respond.

 

“Here. With you.” She says, closing her eyes as the feeling takes her. “Wherever you are, brother.”

 

He pushes up, wishes he could take hold of her soft waist. She’s hot and wet and _his._ The silk rubs against his wrists.

 

“I want –” he starts, eyes watching as she moves on him. Her body is a miracle of the earth, he thinks every time he sees her. “Let me – ”

 

She stills him at that, stopping the movement of her hips and pressing an open palm to his chest. She considers him there for a moment.

 

“You are mine this morning, Cesare.” She says, as she starts to move again. “Not your wife’s, or your army’s.”

 

He frowns. “I have not spoken with Charlotte in –”

 

She cuts him off. As if to make her point she leans down now, kisses him.

 

The rest of the words are lost between them for now. He can’t help but strain against the silk with every thrust, but there is something to be said for feeling wholly possessed by her. Like a blessing from the God his father believes in, but he’s been graced to feel her, to see her to touch her. There’s nothing he’s wanted more in the world than to be hers, to have her.

 

When she finishes with a perfect cry, he follows her (as he always has).

 

She kisses him again, this time leisurely, as though they have all the time in the world. When she pulls back, she touches his chin lightly, brushes her nose against his.

 

“All mine.” She smiles against his lips. “To do with as I please.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been re-reading all the fiction in this fandom (because what else is there to do each week, waiting for a new episode?) and I've come to the conclusion that I absolutely have no right to be writing in the same place as all the exceedingly talented others who post here. 
> 
> On the other hand, I've got four assessment tasks due end of this week and I haven't started any - and really, procrastination is the best of muses. 
> 
> Well, except for the obvious: Francois Arnaud without a shirt, but that's a given.


End file.
